"All I Know Is We Are On Our Way" (part deux)

Hi folks,

You'll have to forgive me, but in restricting myself for once to the required number of words in my column for the Irish Examiner, it feels as if I've left out more than I've included in this week's missive, hence this overly verbose addition!

In seasons past, my tardy habits have cost me dear but I have to admit that I've grown somewhat complacent in recent times, because the Gunners haven't been starting games sufficiently fired up to force the opposition onto the back foot right from the opening whistle and I've not missed an early goal all season

As a result, although I was hurrying across the North Bridge at 3pm on Saturday along with loads of other latecomers, there was little sense of urgency because few of us were exactly panicking about this prospect.

Obviously I was a little miffed when the roar went up, especially at the thought that I wasn't present for Shava's first strike in an Arsenal shirt, but on the radio they initially thought that it might've been Song who'd got the last touch. Nevertheless I hollered my delight and did a little jig of joy, because it's been so long since we made the sort of fast start to a game to gain an immediate advantage and thereby ensuring the sort of entertainment promised by the fact that the opposition would be forced to show a little more ambition in order to make up the deficit.

Some Gooners were a little concerned about Theo Walcott's inclusion in the starting line-up against a Blackburn side, who were bound to adopt the sort of bully-boy tactics much beloved by their overweight manager. Yet it was his return which was the principal factor in Saturday's 4-0 thumping, as a fresh-legged Theo lends the Gunners the sort of vitality that's been sorely lacking in our lacklustre performances of late.

It was our little Roadrunner's energy from the off which resulted in Shava and Song bundling the ball into the back of the net and in turn the early goal was responsible for all that followed, in a game which was more reminiscent of the rampant Gunners of old, with a sorely missed glut of goalscoring opportunities.

Similarly, after battering Burnley and all that euphoria in Rome on Wednesday (with it not mattering a jot that it was such a dodgy performance, after the shoot-out went our way), we've started to accrue some momentum which saw us going into Saturday's game with a buoyancy that we've not witnessed in a long time, with the first signs of the swagger returning to our game and instead of the wayward touches that have been prevalent of late, there was some pep to our far more crisp passing, thereby demonstrating quite how much difference a little confidence makes.

But then the omens were good as I rushed around to the ground, with the covers and an ugly layer of scaffolding finally being removed from the facade of the old East Stand, with it standing there as I turned into Avenell Road, resplendent in the bright sunshine, framed by a cloudless clear blue sky, in its brand spanking red & white coat of paint, in all its Art Deco glory.

With Rona not nearly so enthusiastic about going to new gaff in recent times because she's yet to have any feelings for the place, compared to the far more intimate family vibe of our seats in the West Upper at THOF (where she wouldn't have dreamed of missing a match!), we've been flogging her ticket for recent games to a young Gooner from the US, who's here on a six month footie pilgrimage.

Our septic pal has taken a warehouse job in order to fund his Arsenal addiction and truth be known, we've been so skint that Ro's relative indifference towards many of our home fixtures in recent weeks, has meant that she'd much rather have the readies. Although with the cost of any cup games being added to the price of next season's renewals (as the replay against Cardiff was the last of the seven included in the cost of our season tickets), the sensible move would be to put the cash in the bank, as I know we're going to regret not doing so, when we're struggling to come up with more than two grand come the deadline on 1st June!

I've also felt a little guilty taking all Zach's hard earned wages off him every week. Although I've learned to get the wonga from him up front, as I've felt even more heartless, relieving him of forty quid following some of our dreary 0-0 draws. In an effort to recoup some of his outgoings and for some added interest, Zach has been taking small punts on some long odds footie bets and I was delighted for him on Saturday, when he thought he'd had his first win, with a few quid on Shava as first goal scorer at 7/1.

However with the subsequent doubts over who'd had the last touch, we were both panicking about whether William Hill would pay out and he rushed around to the bookies in Blackstock Road immediately after the final whistle to try and collect his winnings, before they had an opportunity to amend the scorer. As a result, we were both relieved and I was somewhat surprised to hear that these gambling "ganefs" had duly coughed up.

Our last three domestic matches have produced ten great goals and Alex Song has been a constant and significant factor in all three of these games (which isn't bad when you consider that it wasn't so long ago that Arsène was to be heard telling fans at a shareholders Q & A session something to the effect of "I know that Alex is a centre-back and is not suited to playing in midfield"). Recent evidence would suggest that Song and Denilson are beginning to complement one another as a midfield pairing.

They both continue to frustrate me with their naive defending, where I find it very strange how often both of them struggle with the basic principle of staying goalside of their opponent and end up forced to attempt a potentially reckless challenge, in an effort to attempt a recovery. What's more, it must be a Brazilian thing, as Denilson seems to have acquired Gilberto's annoying habit of making a successful challenge, but somehow failing to come away with the ball. But Song seems to have the strength and determination to develop into a decent ball winner, with his no nonsense tackling style and with both he and Denilson having time on their side, they both deserve to be afforded plenty of patience.

By contrast, on the evidence of Wednesday's decidedly unimpressive performance and other recent games where they've played as a partenrship in the middle, although Denilson and Diaby might look like a decent midfield pairing, in reality they've yet to demonstrate that they're capable of developing into a force that's capable of controlling the middle of the park.

There've been rare instances when Abou has looked like a world-beater, but for the most part these have been brief cameo moments (Aston Villa away comes to mind) and it's hard to remember Diaby producing an impressive 90 minute display. Personally I was looking forward to seeing him get a run in a more central role because he definitely doesn't look comfortable when asked to play out wide. I seem to remember reading somewhere that his preferred position is playing behind the front man but wherever one play on the park, the princples of defending as a team are the same.

It was ironic to see the reversal of roles in the Olympic Stadium on Wednesday. Driven on by a home crowd, Roma's aging bunch of journeymen were bound to be more up for it than they were in the first leg. But watching them pressing us in our own half, denying us any time on the ball, one could be forgiven for thinking they were the Premiership side.

Unfortunately I was only able to watch the Roma game on the box and I was gutted not to have been able to go to the Eternal City. Although at least we've seen the Gunners play there before which meant that it wasn't quite so traumatic watching on the telly. But above all, the main reason I can't bear not being present is because I find watching the Gunners on box unbelievably stressful, especially when being forced to endure 120 cringeworthy minutes, followed by a "hide behind the sofa" shoot-out.

I'm a little loathe to comment on TV coverage of an Arsenal performance because of the possibility of not having seen the bigger picture, as the camera follows the ball. Yet while I wouldn't dream of slagging anyone in red & white out loud, when watching in person, I found myself screaming blue-murder in frustration during much of Sky's coverage of Wednesday's feeble display.

Even though we have a relatively inexperienced side, it's hard to imagine so many seasoned Internationals being over-awed by the occasion. Yet whether this was the cause, or whether it was due to a little complacency creeping in, after our dominant display in the first leg, right from the opening whistle I got the sense that we weren't nearly sufficiently pumped compared to the home team, as Roma were first to every ball and showed so much nore hunger and determination.

Some might suggest this game demonstrated quite to what extent Totti is a waning force, as I've no doubt that the Totti of old, who was frequently in the habit of winning matches almost single-handed, he would've found some way of taking advantage of all the time and space afforded to his side while in possession.

Some less critical Gooner seem to have watched a different game to me, but personally I was utterly incredulous at the way Roma kept walzing through our midfield, almost entirely unopposed. Eventually I found myself cussing everyone at such loud decibel levels, that I had to put a sock it in because I was scaring the crap out of the poor dog and I made myself sit here quietly, trying to coax poor, trembling Treacle back out from under the table!

However with our defence not knowing whether to stick, or twist (ie. whether to hold their line on the edge of our area, or to come out and close the space down), I was convinced that the likes of Totti, Vucinic or Riise would eventually punish us for inviting them to shoot, by spanking one in from just outside the area.

Mercifully we can forget all that having succeeded in the shoot-out. Although I am sure I wasn't alone in thinking that when it came down to penalties, our young team was far more likely to bottle it than Roma's experienced lot.

Consequently I'm happy to admit that I was wrong and all credit to the lads for the cahones they showed in stepping up to take their spot-kicks, even Eduardo, or especially Eduardo, because even though he failed to find the back of the net, hy taking the first, he was the bravest of the lot.

Plenty of Gooners have risen to defend Almunia's right to deal with the shoot-out in whatever way suited him. However I have to agree with Amy Lawrence on this one, as I really didn't like the way he stood on the edge of the pitch, bent double, with his back to the Gunners penalties. By doing this, he was hardly showing "unbelievable belief" in his teammates prospects of scoring. But then as detailed by the Observer's Gooner Gal in her recent blog piece, perhaps this was exactly the sort of timid display that one might expect of the macho man who'd recently been pictured in the tabs walking a toy dog in a fuschia coloured jacket.

I don't know about anyone else but from my point of view he could be a Medallion Man, or an outlandishly fey Dorothy, but I want a bold, balls-out, barmpot of a keeper with the sort of intimidating presence that makes him appear another two feet taller, to anyone striding up to take a spot kick, not a meek silent feller who instead appears to shrink between the posts.

Althougn now is definitely not the time to be having a pop at anyone, as I love 'em all at the mom and with everyone returning to full-fitness, I'm hoping that at long last we might begin to see the benefits of some genuine competition for places as we reach the business end of the season.

Bring on the Tigers - in the event we turn over Phil Brown's team, I'm off to see if I've enough left of my overdraft to afford two tickets to Wemberlee!

Nuff Love
Bernard

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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

"All I Know Is We Are On Our Way"

I yanked my radio headphones out of my ear and craned my neck forwards, convinced I was hearing things at the Arsenal on Saturday. I couldn’t believe the sound of the “Super Nicky Bendtner” chant emanating out from the North-West corner of the ground (from our somewhat ineffective “singing section”).

With this ditty coming on the back of the Dane’s umpteenth glaring miss, at first I wondered if it might be a mickey-taking version (eg. the “Super Pr**k” adaption of the bloke behind me), or perhaps they were extolling another Gunner, since an earlier hapless effort to hit Blackburn’s bovine backside, with Bendtner’s badly tuned banjo had resulted in a chorus of “Robin Van Persie”, to try and encourage Arsène to put our Danish striker out of his misery and bring the Dutchman off the bench.

My incredulity stemmed from the fact that the Arsenal faithful have acquired a reputation for fickle behaviour at home games in recent times. Obviously it helped that we were 2-0 up at this stage and still high on Shava’s glorious first goal, but it made for a pleasant change to hear our crowd doing their bit, trying to prop up Bendtner’s battered confidence, despite tearing our hair out, watching him blow chance, after chance.

I might well be one of Bertie “Big Bollix” Bendtner’s biggest critics, but along with the majority of those present, I recognised that he’d put in an earnest shift. Although he was infuriatingly profligate with so many goal-scoring opportunities, considering the dearth of entertainment on offer at our place of late, the more knowledgeable amongst us were appreciative of the fact that Nicky was getting himself into these positions so frequently. Moreover, I know it was only Rovers, but his woeful finishing aside, I’ve rarely seen our Danish striker looking so sharp.

I’ve a tendency to zone out on the bonehead Gooner begrudgers in our vicinity. Otherwise the “white noise” of all their whingeing would ruin games. But I opened my gob on Saturday, when the Bendtner knocker behind me suggested it was barmy that we were singing his praises, loudly commenting “slagging him off is hardly likely to encourage him to play any better”.

Earlier in the game, when Dowd booked one of the Rovers midfield, this same bigot barked out “you black…..naughty man, you” as if his brain had caught up with his mouth, mid-comment. Evidently the racists haven’t entirely evaporated from our terraces, they’ve merely succumbed to peer pressure.

Perhaps if a few more of us made it be known that it is also not big, nor clever to get on our own players’ backs, it might just have a similar effect and we wouldn’t have so many old-school Gooners questioning whether they’re going to bother spending their hard earned wedge, renewing their season tickets, only to be surrounded by so many people who don’t seem to have a clue what being a “supporter” entails.

Although the overall mood is definitely on the up, after our 4-0 romp against Rovers was reinforced by the result at Villa Park. Knowing how many of my Spurs mates seem to gain more pleasure from the Gunners’ demise, than they do from their own team’s exploits, they will have been squirming between the rock and the hard place of Sunday’s encounter with Villa. The 3 points that raised Spurs up out of the relegation mire must’ve left a bitter after-taste, by fortifying our 4th place.

There can be few finer margins between success and failure than our progress to the last 8 of the Champions League via a penalty shoot-out and it would’ve been a completely different story if we’d skied one of our spot-kicks instead of Roma. Surely the Totti of old would’ve taken advantage of all the time and space afforded to the home side in the Olympic Stadium. Yet our failure to suppress a second-rate Roma was soon forgotten about in the rampant euphoria of the all-important result.

There was plenty of time for reflection, as having ruined Roman dreams of playing in a final on their own pitch, the local Carabinieri expressed their resentment by refusing to let the Gooners go until gone 1.30am. I don’t want to tempt fate before Friday’s draw for the penultimate two rounds of the tournament, but after taking our place along with the best teams in Europe, on the back of such an unimpressive performance, this might lead one to conclude that perhaps, just perhaps our name is on the big-eared prize?

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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

You'll Never Walk Alone

There was a marvelous moment immediately after our second goal against Owen Coyle’s Clarets on Sunday, when Eduardo stood looking up at the replays on the big screen, admiring his own footwork. It was perfectly understandable, as his side-foot volley was indeed a thing of beauty. In fact all three goals were works of art, but then they were bound to leave us salivating, considering how starved us poor, spoiled Gooners have been of such high-class entertainment on home turf of late.

I know it was only West Brom, but for those of us who were fortunate to have made the trip to the Hawthorns in midweek, it felt as if the Gunners had started to rediscover the dynamism and the energy, that’s been on the missing list for much of our lacklustre season so far. Nevertheless we badly needed to demonstrate this in a home game, because otherwise one might’ve begun to believe that the Arsenal actually benefit from playing away, liberated by the knowledge that every mistake is not going to be met with the collective groans of 60,000 demanding Gooners.

Then again, I’d be a liar if I didn’t say that I find away games somewhat liberating. I certainly look forward to them more, in recent times, knowing that I will be surrounded by the sort of staunch awayday faithful who might continue to turn the air blue, agonising under their breath, but who appreciate that they have a part to play in getting behind the team and audibly expressing their support for the entire ninety, come what may. By contrast, despite the fact that Sunday’s encounter was the most enjoyable home game since Cardiff’s capitulation in the last round, we exited our place to the tune of the Burnley fans’ “3-0 and you still don’t sing” taunts.

It feels to me as if far too many amongst our home fans have become so accustomed to giving vent to their frustrations, that this has become their default status. Sure there are pockets of steadfast support, like the Red Action “singing section” in the North-West corner. But the immense proportions of our impressive looking stadium seem to prevent their chants emanating out and so the volume waxes and wanes, rarely ever reaching the sort of roof-raising magnitude that would lend our home games that inspirational, hair-raising atmosphere, craved by fans and players alike.

With hindsight the club might have done better to allocate the section of seats directly in front of the media to the Red Action mob, as these currently appear to be occupied by the most fickle of the Gooner faithful, resulting in the sort of regular reports which are fast earning Arsenal fans an unwanted reputation as being the Premiership’s quickest to turn on our team. It would be a shame to deny our friends from the wrong end of the Seven Sisters Road their one and only table-topping opportunity.

Much kudos to BBC radio for their revival of revamped versions of “Galton & Simpson’s Half Hour” comedies, starting on Saturday with “You’ll Never Walk Alone”. It’s as funny and as poignant today, as it was 30 years ago. There’s a line where Frank Skinner (playing the Brian Glover role) tells the other passengers on his Wembley bound train “We’re not just spectators, we’re complimentary ingredients in the same pudding. Us and the team. We’re the yeast that makes them rise to the occasion. We’re the spur, the whip, the following wind, which billows out the sails of the mighty galleon”.

Quite frankly I find it depressing to think that I might be destined to a future where, instead of my season ticket offering me fortnightly opportunities to bellow the mighty Gunners on to further glory, I more frequently find myself sitting there wanting to scream at the whinging blowhards to put a sock in it!

Meanwhile it was great to be back on the sofa on Sunday night, eagerly awaiting the highlights, after several weeks in which the dearth of entertainment has seen an ignominious slide down the MOTD pecking order. It was more like watching “Invasion Of The Body Snatchers” or some weird and wonderful dream, seeing Alex Song produce the precision pass, to put the ball on a plate for Eduardo’s volley and then follow this up with his artistic backheel, in the balletic build-up to Eboué’s goal. Surely this wasn’t the same prosaic Song who’s been passing the responsibility on all season, with his penchant for laying the ball off sideways and backwards?

Theo Walcott’s return was a major fillip because we’ve sorely missed the our little Road Runner’s scintillating pace and the resulting buzz of anticipation every time he receives the ball. Hopefully he’s back in the nick of time to leave Roma’s defence trailing in his wake in the Olympic Stadium on Wednesday. Mind you, if the disconcerting list of Roman “don’t dos” that arrived with the tickets were all to be heeded, most Gooners wouldn’t dare step out of their hotel room for fear of upsetting the Ultras!

Now if only Theo could acquire some of the composure shown by Carlos Vela, in lifting the ball over Burnley’s lump of a keeper, he’d be the complete package. However with “Shava” finding his feet and beginning to pull the strings and with Fabregas, Adebayor and Rosicky still to be added to the mix, the Gunners are suddenly back to looking like a match for anyone, while Villa’s recent falter has put a completely different complexion on the race to finish in the top four.

Sadly with Hull still between us and a semi-final berth, we were denied that Wembley buzz on Sunday. Myself I’m all for keeping Wembley special, but I guess they’ve got to pay for the place somehow and not yet having had the privilege, I’m not about to moan about being that bit closer to our first opportunity to see the Arsenal tread the remodelled version of the hallowed turf.

Personally I would’ve preferred Man Utd as potential semi-final opponents, purely for the pleasure of being the team to put the kibosh on their prospects of monopolizing all this season’s silverware. Moreover with Essien coming back for the Blues, Chelsea are likely to prove a much stiffer test than the team we beat at the Bridge.

However, with serious European business either side of any potential domestic Cup derby, I’ve faith we’ll still have bigger fish to fry. Some pundits (and Mourihno) would have you believe that Inter’s 0-0 in Milan was a more worrisome result than our single goal win against Roma. The more they write the Gunners off, the more I begin to wonder if, instead of this campaign offering a test of our loyalty, ultimately the greater challenge will be the assault upon the depth of Gooner pockets. It’s ironic to think that we’re all sitting here praying for the sort of success that will end with us joining Utd fans in the queues for a second mortgage!
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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Win When We're Singing

Hi folks

I'm sure I wasn't alone in finding Sunday's Carling Cup final difficult to endure, not knowing who I'd rather win (or lose). With it being my Spurs mate's 9-year old son's birthday on Saturday and with them going to Wembley, I guess it would've been great for them to celebrate a win. However the lad enjoyed his first final last season and in truth, if he's going to grow up with the burden of being a Spurs time, I suppose it's about time he started learning the hard facts of life and begins to get accustomed to that annual feeling of disappointment.

Moreover, on the basis that my other Spurs mates would've been absolutely insufferable if they'd actually retained a trophy, even such a Mickey Mouse one (especially if, heaven forfend, we end up enduring another barren season), in the end, there was a good deal of Shadenfreude to be savoured in the penalty shoot-out, particularly when "Big Time" David Bentley put his spot kick wide.

However being up for Man Utd doesn't exactly come easy and this was only on the proviso that ultimately it will be ourselves who'll have the opportunity put an end to all this preposterous talk of a "quintuplet", by winning either the FA Cup, the Champions League, or even both, hopefully putting Utd to the sword in one, or both competitions along the way.

After Saturday's disappointment, Stoke's two late goals against Villa on Sunday were a major filip. Although I couldn't help but feel even more annoyed that we'd failed to take advantage of Villa's slip up. Then again, there's a part of me that wonders if it might actually be an advantage for us to have no option but the win the Champs League to qualify next season. Yet this would be a massive "all or nothing" gamble and if we are going to give ourselves an alternative option, we've got to begin to apply some pressure. Villa have got some seriously awkward encounters coming up but their results are irrelevant, unless we can do our bit by breaking our recent goal drought and beginning a winning run.

Arsène admits that Arshavin is only 80-90 per cent fit (although to my eyes, less than 80 appears more accurate than more than 90!). Nevertheless from the impact Andrey has already had with his cameo moments, it's plainly obvious he's a class act. Mercifully we're at least not being fed the traditional excuses about Andrey needing time to adapt to Premiership footie and with the stars we have to come back from injury in the weeks ahead, I remain relatively optimistic that we're going to be reaping the rewards of the Ruski's arrival, before the season is out, as he and his teammates start to produce the sort of football that leaves all of our far too fickle (not so) faithful feeling more than a little stupid and the rest of us bemused Gooners wondering what might've been, if only we'd struck a vein of form a little sooner.

If only according to the law of averages, I've got to fancy we can't go five games without scoring a goal. But in addition to a much needed confidence boost of a win up at West Brom, I'm hoping this week might also provide an opportunity to witness Jack Wilshere running rings around the old enemy's kids, in the FA Youth Cup Quarterfinal at White Hart Lane.

Come on you Reds
Big Love
Bernard


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I was sufficiently infuriated by our failure to find the back of the net (again!) on Saturday, to feel like making my frustrations known at the final whistle. Nevertheless, I wasn’t about to join in with the loud chorus of boos, that saw the Gunners departing the field with the sound of our own “supporters” disapprobation ringing in their ears.

Admittedly I was more than a little miffed because I didn’t get the sense that our players left absolutely everything out there on the field, during the closing stages of this match. While Frank Lampard was bagging a seemingly undeserved winner in injury time at the Bridge, I was most disappointed that we couldn’t seem to drum up the same “do or die” urgency, which in the past would’ve resulted in us laying siege to Fulham’s goal for the last 15 minutes. Driven by the knowledge that nothing less than a win would suffice, I fondly recall the way in which opposing teams have visibly seemed to wilt in the dying throes, in the face of the force of nature, which was fuelled by the unrelenting drive and determination of Arsenal sides of yore.

Whereas nowadays, in a squad seemingly devoid of inspirational leadership figures, with the presence and personality to rally the troops when necessary, by cajoling and encouraging in equal measure and with our confidence so brittle that several players seem to lack the bottle to grasp the goal-scoring responsibilities (judging by their infernal insistence on overplaying, when all one wants is for someone to “give it some welly”!), it’s the Gunners who’ve got a tendency to wilt.

Much as I love him, the mild-mannered Kolo Touré isn’t really my idea of captain material. It might be seen as a little “de trop” in these touchy-feely times but instead of a superstitious soul, who’s inherited the armband by default and who’s last out of the loo because a teammate has the trots, I’d much prefer the sort of highly-charged lunatic who’d be headbutting the lockers, before leading his men into battle!

If we’d scored an early goal against Fulham, it would’ve been an entirely different story. But, for example, when our 5 minute flurry at the start of the second half failed to breach Schwarzer’s goal, the energy levels dropped and as the fuse burned out without a bang, one soon got the sense that our players felt as if they were fated for yet another fruitless afternoon.

However on sitting down to endure the low-lights on the box later that night, I was reminded of the wafer thin margins between success and failure. The Carpenters might be a more appropriate moniker than the Gunners, considering how intimate we’ve been with the woodwork this season. With the width of a post denying us a goal for the 12th time, it occurred to me that unlike the bore draws against West Ham and Sunderland, the Cottagers’ more ambitious approach had made for an open encounter, in which we did everything but hit the back of the old onion bag.

As a result, as irate as I was about our 4th successive scoreless domestic draw and the prospect of coming to terms with a weekend which might put the complete kibosh on Champions League qualification, this definitely wasn’t the sort of scandalously poor display that was deserving of such a din of disapproval at the death.

Moreover I would invite all those Gooners who targeted the team (and our manager) as a means of venting their anger, to look a little closer to home in the hunt for an equally culpable scapegoat. If I was annoyed by the apparent lack of passion and commitment in the closing stages, I was no less dismayed by the dearth of any atmosphere. Despite it’s library label, many was the afternoon at Highbury when, in appreciation of the significance of the outcome, the North Bank or the Clock End would rise to the occasion, to create that wall of noise which was capable of sucking the ball into the back of the net, as a match reached its cacophonous climax.

By contrast, Saturday’s crowd was so taciturn that commentating on the radio, Stan Collymore described the occasion as having a testimonial feel to it. Sadly, perhaps it’s the open expanses of our new stadium which don’t lend themselves to creating the concerted clamour that's capable of inspiring the sort of surge of adrenaline that can displace the lactic acid in the fatigued legs of those playing their second game in five days, so that instead of feeling like they’re running through treacle, they’re inspired to fly around the pitch in one last desperate effort to reward the raucous faithful. Or maybe it’s just the fact that our home crowd is made up of far too many “well to do” punters, who no longer appreciate the traditions of the unspoken contract that is their match ticket, whereby in return for pumping up the volume, ones team will play their hearts out.

In truth, it was sweet relief to come home on Saturday and turn on the TV to watch the cricket. In a world filled with footie fans who demand instant gratification as a reward for their extortionate ticket prices, test match cricket remains a last bastion of civility, as a sport where folk continue to applaud the skill and dexterity of the participants, despite a 5-day encounter ending in an inconclusive draw.

Ultimately, no matter what one’s opinion in private, we Gooners are hardly going to encourage the team to go on and win the FA Cup or the Champions League, in an effort to please those fickle fans who gave them the bird and in light of Villa’s subsequent capitulation against Stoke, some of us might want to take a leaf out of Rudyard Kipling’s book, when it comes to meeting with those impostors of triumph and disaster!

Roll on Tuesday and a faith restoring trip to the Hawthorns, in the company of those Gooners whose support remains unconditional!

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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Andrey-Climax

Hi folks

Hot gossip .... Amanda Docherty, the Arsenal Press Officer let it slip this evening that the Uzbek gangster has been trying to ingratiate himself with the Gunners' board by gifting the Gunners squad two unkown East Europeans. As a result, Bora Primorac has been hastily despatched by Arsène to Rotor Volvograd to have a butchers at Katycha Haribakov and Plumplukovich, in the hope they might combine with Arshavin to form a midfield trio of Back, Sack & Crack!

Meanwhile for the benefit of those who are unaware, I've referred to the Roma game below in the past tense, due to the fact that my missive appears in Wednesday's edition of the Irish Examiner.

Myself I quite fancy a repeat of 2002, where there will be no need to freak out if tonight's game ends in a frustrating 1-1 draw, if we can go out there again and roll Roma over without really raising a sweat

Come on you Reds
Bernard
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If Roma sent their spies out to see us play Sunderland on Saturday, they’ll have discovered that frustrating the hell out of us at home isn’t difficult. If two disciplined, well-drilled banks of four can keep us quiet for the first 20 minutes, we soon run out of ideas and containing us for the remainder of the 90 is just a matter of maintaining one’s shape and one’s work rate. As has been the case for much of this season, despite dominating possession, our convoluted, but ultimately clueless approach play is guaranteed to make decidedly mediocre opposition look good, because in our current incarnation, the Gunners lack the spark necessary to generate that all-important change of pace, or the guile to give defences the sort of serious headache that they can expect from those teams above us in the table.

After Eduardo came back with such a bang in the Cup game, I was gutted to hear he’d picked up a hamstring injury. I’d hoped the confidence boost of Eddy’s return, combined with the introduction of Arshavin, would be the catalyst to breathe new life back into the Arsenal’s season. After carving up Cardiff, I expected us to be able to reinforce Villa’s wobble, by walloping the Wearsiders and as a result, be going into our game with Roma on a real high.

However sadly Eddie’s setback seems to have put the kibosh on my optimistic script and unfortunately Andrey’s debut ultimately proved to be a bit of a damp squib. While the Ruski might’ve flattered to deceive early in the first-half, with a couple of well-struck efforts, which at least demonstrated that the diminutive fella has a decent dig on him, to my mind he still appears a long way from the sort of peak fitness levels necessary to stay the relentless Premiership course.

Arshavin might’ve got away with his cameo party-pieces in a side that was going great guns. But after the high of Monday night, coming into an Arsenal side that was back to its lacklustre worst, Andrey’s lack of fitness was always likely to be exposed, as he struggled to live up to our saviour like levels of expectation.

The Villa Park appetizer made for awkward viewing, as it went completely against the grain to be up for the Blues. Having blown a prime opportunity to make a significant dent in the points gap between us and that highly-prized 4th place and following our 3rd successive goalless game, some might fancy the Gunners would be better off focusing on keeping our noses in front of the likes of Everton, than on an increasingly unlikely quest for Champions League qualification.

Yet with Hiddink expected to burnish up Abramovich’s not so brand new toy and with Essien due to return for the run-in, to a squad teeming with experience of what it takes to haul tired limbs over the finishing line, if one of the two teams above us are going to falter in the finishing straight, you’ve got to fancy that it’s more likely to be Villa?

It may be a truism, but the league table never lies and with Saturday’s early KO offering an opportunity to draw direct comparisons, based on our utterly flaccid form of late, even the most blinkered Gooner would struggle to make a case for the Gunners deserving to be above Villa or Chelsea. Nevertheless I’m not panicking just yet.

We couldn’t have been more disconsolate if we’d endured a defeat and the demoralised mood was palpable as we trudged towards the exits, with the Black Cats’ fans crowing in the corner as if they’d just won a cup. I suppose it’s a mark of the contrasting expectation levels and earning another point against the Gunners was good enough cause for the Wearsiders to gloat. Yet while they’d warmed Almunia’s gloves with a couple of long range efforts in the first-half, all such ambition dwindled as the clock ticked down.

I suppose ultimately it was the visitors discipline which helped to secure them the draw, but I’m sure I would’ve found it dreadfully frustrating if I was a Sunderland fan, to watch them working the ball from the corner flag all the way back to the keeper, because they were more intent on retaining possession, than daring to attempt to create an effort on goal.

The visiting fans had so little to shout about second-half, that at one point they celebrated the award of a throw-in, as if they’d scored a goal. But you’ve got to give them credit for schlepping all the way from the North-East and back, in return for so little reward. But then I guess it goes with the territory when one has endured a period of yo-yoing up and down that entertainment is just not a factor, compared to that all-imprtant task of consolidating their Premiership status.

I was no less depressed than my near-suicidal young Gooner pal from the States, who was enduring his first taste of the peaks and troughs of live footie. Yet my time served in the trenches provided me with a more philosophical attitude, knowing the momentary gloom to be only a temporary stumbling block.

You only had to cast a glance at the row of interested spectators at Saturday’s game that included Adebayor, Rosicky, Fabregas and Eduardo (doubtless Saint Theo relinquished his seat in deference to one of his returning teammates), who are all set to return to full fitness in the weeks ahead, to be certain that it’s not a matter of “if” the Gunners are going to come good, but whether we can muster a sprint finish in time to reel the Brummy buggers in.

Evidence of the Gunners fall from grace can be seen in the way we’ve slipped down amongst the “also-rans” in MOTD’s program line-up and disappeared into the obscurity of the odd column inch, as far as the back pages of the tabloids are concerned. Some pundits would have us believe that we’re the only English team at risk of bowing out of the Champions League but I’m only too happy to have the entire footballing world writing the Arsenal off.

Even if you should be reading this after Roma have successfully stifled us and left me tearing out even more of my hair, as a result of yet another infuriating home game on Tuesday night, with 3 weeks to the second leg, I certainly won’t be giving up the ghost.

Our lightweight looking squad have repeatedly demonstrated their ability to rise to the occasion and I’m fairly optimistic of us giving a good account of ourselves in the Olympic Stadium. If the return of our walking wounded can add a little more guile, I’ve a feeling Roma might afford us the time and space to really start to pull the strings. A more Continental style game should suit the Gunners and hopefully it will be humble pie all round, served up on the pundits’ premature obituaries, as a result of a performance reminiscent of Henry’s hat-trick in 2002 and an encore of the veni, vidi, vici vibes of our last trip to the Eternal City.
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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

Arsène Wenger's Red & White Army Makes A Long Overdue And Most Welcome Return

G'day fellow Gooners,

In some respects I kind of wish I'd posted the following diary entry out as soon as I'd finished it, as it would've sounded a good deal more prescient in advance of last night's match, than in the warm glow of the aftermath of a resounding 4-0 victory, where at long last, the Gunners began to look something more like themselves again.

It's bad enough having to write one of my weekly missives for the Irish Examiner in advance of a midweek match. But it was that much harder writing it, when I knew it might be outdated the following day and so I sat for hours staring at a blank screen, trying my best not to focus on the FA Cup game, in order to avoid being left with egg on my face, by the time my column appears in the newspaper's Wednesday sports supplement. As a result, as far as I'm concerned, who ever it was who decided to maximise TV revenues, by spreading the FA Cup matches over the entire weekend and running into Monday night, come the revolution they will join my long list of those who will be first to be lined up against the wall.

Moreover it meant for an incredibly stressful day for me, trying to get my missive finished in time to leave for work, driving to Kent and then getting everything done in time to get back home for the game. As it turned out (due to numerous circumstances beyond my control), I ended up parking up outside Highbury Quadrant just as the game kicked off and according to the sadistic laws of Sod and Murphy, by the time I'd scuttled around to the ground, as fast as my weary bones would carry me, I was just approaching Turnstile H, when the roar went up to greet Eduardo's goal.

Eddie couldn't have waited a couple more minutes to celebrate his return to action, enabling me to have time to make it to my seat? Although I was somewhat more fortunate than many of the other tardy Gooners, as at least I had my trusty terrace tranny to convey specific details, while many other late arrivals were left dashing around the ground, not even knowing who'd scored.

And in truth, from what I'd heard of the commentary on route, I got the impression that we'd started the game at such a gallup, that if it wasn't for our profligacy in front of Cardiff's goal and their young goalie's admirable efforts to deny us, we could've already been at least two goals to the good.

I was gutted I'd missed KO, as Red Action had decreed this to be flag day and I was looking forward to seeing whether they'd been successful in encouraging Gooners to ignore Keith Edelman's barmy flag ban, in order to try and bring a little more colour to the ground. However judging by the fact that I actually can't recall seeing a single flag around the place after I eventually arrived, either their pronouncements went unheard, or the club had got wind of the activity and had confiscated all the flags on entry into the ground (which would explain why I don't recall seeing any Welsh flags amongst the away fans either)?

Now we must not go getting carried away, as after all this was only Cardiff and in truth, in my humble opinion, by neglecting their customary "in yer face" tactics, City were guilty of standing off us and showing us far too much respect on the night, thereby allowing us the time and the space to get our passing game going and to recover some much needed confidence.

The one area in which Cardiff could've tried to gain some advantage was in their work rate and if I was Dave Jones, I would've been seriously disappointed by his side's failure to pressure the ball from the opening whistle, to try and unsettle us.

Mind you, compared to the utterly insipid way in which the Gunners have gone about their uninspiring business in many of our recent encounters with lesser teams, I was extremely happy to see us go at it, hammer and tong, taking the game to the visitors, with the sort of verve and energy that's been sorely lacking of late.

I don't think it's a coincidence that this dynamism coincided with the inclusion of Eduardo and Carlos Vela. Not only did it make for a refreshing change from the languid apathy of Adebayor that's been so frustrating so far this season and which has left the Togonator looking like a player who's already made his mark and who therefore has little appetite, other than to mark time until a big money move to the Continent, but it also benefited Nicky Bendtner no end.

With Eduardo and Vela constantly driving forward, the increased number of bodies arriving in the opposition box gave Cardiff's defence so much more to think about, diverting attention from Bendtner and thereby providing him with plenty of opportunities to take on who ever was left with the responsiblity of trying to contain him. Whereas we've grown accustomed to seeing Bertie Big Bollix struggle to retain possession when, two or three opponents can focus all their attentions on thwarting the big-headed young Dane.

It's amazing really, as one would struggle to recognise the Arsenal side stroking the ball around last night, tiring Cardiff out, as they spent the entire evening chasing shadows, as being the same team who struggled to string two passes together against Tottenham, in the first half at White Hart Lane the other week.

As a result, I imagine that all the empty seats in the ground once again last night, will probably be filled for a change, when Saturday comes, as all those fairweather fans will wake up today and read about the Arsenal's entertaining display in their morning papers and suddenly fancy "some of that" this weekend, as with Arshavin's potential debut and Eddie's continued reintroduction, the Arsenal will return to being the place to be and to be seen!

By contrast, as far as I'm concerned, last night's relative goalfest was all due reward for those of us who paid our dues over the last few weeks, on long and exhausting trips to Cardiff, Hull and Goodison. And so it wouldn't be at all surprising that as a result of all those who turn up on Saturday, expecting to sit back in their comfy seats and be treated to a similarly satisfying encore against Sunderland, if fate serves them up an anti-climactic scoreless bore draw, or a dull single goal game, since this would be no more than they deserve.

The reason I try to go to every game is so as to ensure that there is never any chance of me missing out on such an enjoyable performance as last night's and you will have to forgive me, if I am a little loathe to share such pleasures, with the fickle not-so-faithful who feel they can pick and choose their Gooner moments!

For a natural pessimist like myself, it's been a rare pleasure to have felt this innate optimism that the Arsenal would be all right, as soon as we got all our players back. I swear that I was even tempted to predict below that we might end up giving an opponent a real "schmeissing", although last night was a little premature, as I imagined it might take place once we'd returned to full strength and we began to gather some momentum, gaining that "winning feeling", as our passing game clicked back into place.

But I'm certainly not complaining, for although we all know one game does not a season make, but with the confidence the Gunners have garnered from giving out the same sort of humbling football lesson to Cardiff, as was meted out by Spain to England in midweek and with the potential for a big Premiership weekend ahead and our crucial Champions League encounter to follow, we couldn't have possibly picked a better time to rediscover the genuine Gunners, as opposed to those lacklustre impostors of the past couple of months.

Before I go, a word about the Cardiff City fans. Doubtless the high-profile policing and the fact that so many of the old bill were kitted out in full riot clobber last night, stands as testament to large number of "bwad bwoy" scum, amongst the Bluebirds' faithful. However credit where credit is due, their support of their team, in the face of a fairly abject performance (which was only prevented from becoming a cricket score by their keeper's fearless efforts), was seriously loud and pretty constant.

If a stranger had walked into our gaff last night with the score at 4-0, according to the volume level coming from the Cardiff City end of the ground, compared to the relative lack of noise coming from the 50,000 strong home support, it would've been only natural for someone to assume that it was the visitors who were victorious.

But then standing around watching the highlights on the concourse of the lower tier at half-time, you only had to glance around at the vast majority of the Gunners' middle-aged, middle-class "audience", to appreciate why the crowd at our new home is unlikely ever to crank up the decibels, to the point where it becomes a truly intimidating place to play, rather than a glamorous stage that opposition teams look forward to performing on.

Although it would be wrong for me to end on a pessimistic note, after the seriously positive boost of last night's dominant display. So all together now "She wore, she wore......"

Come on you rejuvenated Reds
Nuff Love
Bernard
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I was amazed to see a full house at our place last Tuesday for the Brazil v Italy friendly, but then I suppose the Brazilian national team will always provide a big draw, as they’re guaranteed to bring a riot of atmosphere and colour wherever they play. Pre-match, the pubs in the Holloway Road resounded to the beat of the samba drums and during the game it was great to see our ground bedecked in Brazilian flags and the Tricolore of the Italian Azzuri.

Bizarrely any such flags would’ve been banned on a regular matchday, as killjoy Keith Edelman (the Arsenal’s former MD) instigated a ban on national flags, as a hammer to crack the nut of a particularly petty barney between Greek and Turkish Cypriot Gooners, who objected to the sight of one another’s national colours.

However Edelman was never a genuine footie fan at heart and now that he’s been given the heave-ho, I’d hope that none of the stewards will bother enforcing this bonkers ban, as the colourful sight of the stadium last week has inspired Red Action to call for all Gooners to get their flags out for the lads, for the Cup replay against Cardiff.

I certainly can’t envisage the stewards ejecting fans from the away end for flying the Welsh dragon and so not only would it be wrong to discriminate against the home fans, but the International friendly should serve as an example to the club that, to the contrary, they should be encouraging anything that is likely to make the atmosphere at our home games a little less sterile.

The sight of Gilberto sweeping up in his water carrier role in front of the Brazilian defence was also a poignant reminder of the sort of presence and composure that the Gunners have sorely missed in our immature and somewhat lightweight midfield of late, in the absence of players with the sort of stature and experience of Gilberto and Flamini.

Not that Flamini was anywhere near approaching his dotage, but when one considers Arsène’s apparently strict policy towards players over 30, our squad is destined to remain relatively inexperienced. It seems inevitable that we will struggle to retain the services of players who pass the three decade threshold, no matter how much they want to continue to play for the Arsenal, since one can’t possibly expect them to suffer the insecurity of a one year contract, when they and their families are likely to benefit from the promise of a far more comfortable retirement that would result from an irresistible three or four year deal, which other clubs can offer them, knowing they need only put a little security on the table, in order to lure the player away.

I’m all for having a hungry young side, as hopefully, aside from Bertie Big Bollix Bendtner, they should have everything to prove. However, even if it’s just to have them around as squad players, I believe every dressing room needs a couple of “been there, done that” elder statesmen, to calm their teenage teammates ruffled brows in moments of high drama.

As evidenced by the number of successful numbskulls, football management is not rocket science, but there’s a crucial amount of chemistry involved. Of late Arsène’s magic touch as an alchemist might’ve eluded him, but while many Gooners continue to contest our need for new basic ingredients, I remain confident in le gaffer’s ability to get it right. So long as the Gunners can remain in there with a shout for some silverware, when those base guile, pace and goal poaching elements become available, with the return of Eduardo, Walcott & Fabregas and the introduction of Arshavin.

After our replay against Cardiff was postponed and with Sunday’s 6th round FA Cup draw, I can rarely recall having our route to Wembley mapped out so far in advance. With advantageous home draws against Burnley and Sheffield Utd or Hull to come, if we’ve managed to overcome Cardiff, it’s hard not to tempt fate but I imagine fans of all those clubs still in the hat are already dreaming of being only 90 minutes away from a cup final day out.

Meanwhile Martin O’Neill’s luck had to run dry at some stage and after their defeat at Goodison and with a midweek encounter with CSKA Moscow, it could prove to be a significant weekend in the Premiership, if Villa’s confidence takes a dent against Hiddinck’s Blues and we can capitalize with a win against the Black Cats.

Judging by the lack of focus on the Arsenal in the media, I quite like the fact that we’ve already been written off, in the eyes of many, as the lack of expectation can often have a liberating effect on the pitch. Yet one only has to cast a glance at the seamless introduction of some of Man Utd’s supporting cast against the Rams, to realise that it’s that winning momentum which is key at this stage in the season, as we approach the final turn.

If the Gunners are going to avoid yet another silverware starved summer and the ignominy of our first ever failure to qualify for the Champions League, we’ve simply got to escape the inertia of the past few weeks, by achieving the sort of results, which will begin to restore some confidence and which will hopefully result in a return of the sort of swagger that might give us the impetus to make an impact in the home stretch and make more than a few media folk eat their words!
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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

"Arshavin...We Bought Him In The Snow, He's Better Than Defoe"

Hi folks,

Compared to his experience of what I imagine would be the less obfuscated equivalent over in the US, the Gunners new MD couldn't have wished for a more febrile baptism of fire, than what I assume must've been Ivan Gazides' intense initiation into the complexities of the murky world of International transfers and the club's efforts (and doubtless the endless financial inducements to Uncle Petrouchka and all) to get the Arshavin deal over the finishing line.

We can but hope that Gazides gets to grips with the intricacies and quirks of the beautiful game double quick to shoulder the weight of some of Wenger's responsibilities, so we don't witness a repeat of the sort of ricket that saw Flamini walk away last summer. We also have to hope that the long wait for the board to employ a new MD was worth it, as it appears decidedly negligent of them to have taken so long to make an appointment.

With Arsène having managed to work the oracle on a relative shoestring every season, personally I have to wonder if a certain air of complacency was responsible for the relative lack of urgency involved in finding a replacement for Edelman, who would also be capable of fulfilling David Dein's role at the club. Perhaps Le Prof's success left the board under the misapprehension that they could leave complete control of the club in Arsène's hands, without having to worry about there being any adverse effect from his added responsibility.

Love him, or loathe him, the Arsenal's relative fall from grace since Dein's departure is surely no coincidence. Listening to Dein on the radio last weekend, in light of his close relationship with le Boss, I've little doubt he would've long since persuaded his pal of the need to reinforce the Gunners' under-strength ranks, by parading a constant string of tempting potential targets. What's more, not only would Dein have the time to schmooze said individuals while Arsène was getting on with the business of managing his existing squad, with Le Prof's apparent reluctance to risk the club's money, I imagine it would've been easier for him to take a punt on a player or two, if our former Vice Chairman was able to shoulder the responsibility for the financial decisions.

Gazides came across quite well in his interview with Martin Keown broadcast on Saturday's Football Focus. When Keown told how he once phoned Arsène's home to talk to the manager, only for his neighbour, David Dein to answer, our new MD revealed that he's not yet "hanging out" at Arsène's gaff. But in so doing, I liked the fact that he intimated that he'd appreciate being able to cultivate such a close relationship with our manager. Then who wouldn't? Since in my humble opinion, when it comes to interesting company, our enigmatic leader would be up there with the likes of Stephen Fry. Only time will tell if their relationship is set to (as the Vulcans would say) "live long and prosper".

Arsène had me somewhat baffled again on Sunday. I've always been one of Kolo Touré's biggest fans but the somewhat corpulent Kolo has been a cumbersome shadow of the powerhouse centre-back of seasons past. As a result, I would've expected Djourou to have been given priority alongside Gallas against Spurs. It might've been patently obvious to all but le Prof for some months, but perhaps by picking Kolo, Arsène is finally showing some recognition, of the need to address the increasing clamour for evidence of any leadership qualities out on the park. In the past Kolo has come across as far too humble to be telling others what to do, but I did indeed witness him communicating with his team mates on various occasions against Spurs and it's only as a potential captain that I can imagine him keeping Johann out of the side based on current form.

Meanwhile Andrey Arshavin's lack of fitness might prove to be a blessing in disguise, as with the massive weight of expectation on the Ruski's shoulders, it might well benefit him for his debut to be delayed, so that it coincides with the long awaited reintroduction of some of our other stars, thereby spreading the load somewhat.

Talking of which, it's hard to believe that following a year out after shattering his leg, Eduardo's first competitive football might be for Croatia this week. Can you imagine ol' Red Nose risking having one of his players injured in similar circumstances? You'd be able to hear him telling the respective national federation where to go, from here in Highbury! Knowing our current luck Eddy will end up doing some damage to himself in training!

I witnessed the huge part luck has to play watching highlights of Pompey v Liverpool on Saturday night. While Arsène didn't get away with leaving Robin out last weekend against West Ham and the Dutchman's struggles to make an impact meant he might as well have played the entire 90, for all the benefit he'll have gained from being left on the bench, fate dealt Rafa Benitez a "get out of jail free" card, when his big guns came on as subs to bag the three points. We would have also heard the Scousers clamour for Rafa's hide from this end of the country, if this gamble had failed.

Harry Redknapp's certainly not one for such abstruse tinkering. When Modric and the rest of Spurs midfield started to fade physically in the latter stages on Sunday, he merely brought on Darren Bent and bypassed the middle of the park. Yet with Robbie Keane so eager to shove our taunts of "Even Rafa thinks you're sh*t!" back down Gooner throats, what surprised me most about Sunday's encounter was that despite their squad looking quite strong on paper, even such a tight Premiership table does not lie and judging by this performance, Spurs are exactly where they should be, with the rest of the bottom feeders.

Before I go, a word for poor Tony Adams, who considering the circumstances of taking over a skint club that had scaled the heights of an FA Cup win last season, was always on a hiding to nothing. There seems to have been a consensus of opinion amongst the media of those who seemed to think it more likely that TA would fail than succeed and I'm sad that Adams hasn't really been given a chance to prove them wrong. Whether he has what it takes to manage at the highest level remains in question but you can't criticize the man for accepting a job which basically fell into his lap. Knowing only too well how much passion Adams has for footie, I sincerely hope the whole experience hasn't proved sufficiently off-putting to deny us an opportunity to see him kicking the crap out of the technical area, passing on his ardor to another generation in the future.

With TA's sacking having been overshadowed by the subsequent shock of Scolari also getting the tin tack, I'd better sign off before an earthquake at Ashburton Grove leaves the rest of my missive looking a little dated

Keep the faith
Bernard
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Taking advantage of Sunday’s respite from this arctic winter, I jumped on my motorbike for the brief four mile trip from London N5 to N17. It meant that I was able to park up directly opposite White Hart Lane and following the final whistle, I was out of there and back home in time to have my feet up for the KO of the afternoon’s second sitting from Upton Park. Along with the bag of smoked salmon bagels, one of my more thoughtful Gooner pals had knocked up for a half-time nosh up (and when I revealed my difficulties masticating my way through a bagel with my false set of “Hampsteads”, he even went to the trouble of bringing a sarnie specially for me), sadly these proved to be the only results of the day.

Being on the Away Ticket Scheme, where away match tickets just turn up in the post and the payment is debited directly from my bank account, I don’t tend to notice the price of individual tickets. At least not until the cost takes me over my overdraft limit and I end up being charged an additional 35 quid in bank charges! But as I literally took my life in my hands, negotiating my way to my seat, right up in the gods, in the away fans’ corner of White Hart Lane, trying to contort my body into a suitable “C” shape to be able to shuffle along a dangerously narrow row, past positively the most corpulent member of the Gooner tribe (when it comes to eating all the pies, he must’ve consumed the pies, factory and the entire trading estate!) without tumbling forward, only to find myself in such a confined space that I was forced to watch the match over the shoulder of the bloke beside me, it occurred to me that our hosts have some “chutzpah” charging us an extortionate 47 quid for their shoddy, sardine-like facilities.

Meanwhile you just know this anti-climax of a North London derby never lived up to its over-hyped billing, if I’m left moaning about being fleeced by ticket prices. I guess it speaks volumes of the quality (or lack thereof) of entertainment that until the remorselessly infuriating Manny Eboué tested ref Mike Dean’s patience once too often within the first thirty and earned himself a red card, our perennially immature Ivorian had at least demonstrated the sort of dynamism, to make him the Gunner most likely to give the Spurs defence a headache.

The Spurs stretcher bearers deserve a reprimand for the positively cruel way in which they subjected Adebayor to a barrage of hostile abuse from three-quarters of the home fans, when they carted him off a few minutes prior and appeared to intentionally take the long route around the pitch.. It wasn’t so surprising that the Togonator tore a hamstring, as this was just about the first time he’d turned on the gas. Whereas if he’d been really grafting, instead of loping around on his heels, perhaps his muscles wouldn’t have cooled sufficiently to cause such an injury.

The voracious Adebayor of last season would’ve already gobbled up two goals before limping off, by being sufficiently on his toes to scent the possibility of getting some contact with his elongated limbs, on a couple of dangerous balls across the face of Cudicini’s goal. But whether Ade was a one-season wonder, or has lost his appetite and is now merely marking time until a big money move to the continent, he’s become a pale shadow of the “Johnny-on-the-spot”, opportunistic striker who poached 30 goals in our previous campaign.

Then again with Lennon running Clichy ragged (mercifully with the ever vigilant Gallas to mop up after our error-prone full-back), with the diminutive Modric ghosting past Denilson and Song as if we didn’t have a midfield and with the majority of them guilty of gifting Spurs possession with their slapdash passing, you could be forgiven for wanting to report the Gunners first-half sham to the DTI, for their feeble misrepresentation of the sort of slick, one-touch entertainment we’ve grown accustomed to (and been spoilt by) during Wegner’s tenure.

At least the smoked-salmon at the break was some consolation, compared to the customary mad-cow pasties and salmonella dogs (although I do happen to know the home fans have a somewhat more appetizing choice of half-time comestibles) and as I tried to munch my way out of my depression, I hoped that by reducing us to ten men, Dean would at least engender a sense of injustice that might inspire the sort of fiery “world’s against us” response which would guarantee a more engrossing second-half.

Sadly much like last week’s derby, there was little evidence on the pitch of the sort of passion felt on the terraces. Sure Song huffed and puffed, but with Alex’s nasty habit of allowing opponents to get goal side, he’s still a long way from maturing into the Mascherano class and with our numerical disadvantage, you got the sense that both teams feared defeat too much, to risk going for it gung-ho in the second half.

Considering Spurs might never have a better opportunity to end their abysmal Premiership run against us, I was surprised they didn’t try to turn the screw and in fact aside from Almunia’s great anticipation to block Modric’s last gasp effort, at the end there, I thought we looked the team most likely to nick it.

However as we took great pleasure in reminding the home fans of their current predicament with chants of “Spurs are on their way to Barnsley” and “We’ll never play here again”, I guess there’s no better testament than Tottenham to the fact that a successful side needs to be moulded, rather than purchased off the shelf, by nature of the measly return of their Mickey Mouse trophy for the £335 million spent by 8 different managers, compared to the success we’ve enjoyed under Wenger at a cost of over £100 million less.

Perhaps the highlight of our afternoon was the prospect of Eduardo’s long awaited return and the arrival of Arshavin, as we regaled the two Gunners warming up on the touchline below us. With Walcott and Fabregas, we eagerly anticipate the injection of nearly half a team’s worth of fresh legs and the sorely missed sight of some red & white support arriving in the opposition’s area.

Up until recently, I couldn’t help but harbour hopes we’d be back to full strength in time to have some influence in the title run-in. But with Martin O’Neill’s relentless charge establishing a 7-point gap between us and Villa and with me finding it hard to believe Chelsea won’t recover their form once Essien returns, I’m beginning to panic. Then again, instead of getting stressed out about mixing it with the also-rans, perhaps it will prove no bad thing if our best chance of guaranteeing Champions League qualification is to actually go an win the bloomin’ thing!
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e-mail to: londonN5@gmail.com

We Hate Spurs More Than You?

G’day Gooners

I sat down to write the following on Sunday night and when I went to finish it before leaving for work on Monday morning, Arshavin was in a North London hotel, according to Sky Sports News - although in truth they would’ve had to have him stashed outside of London somewhere close to London Colney, as the Sky Sports News reporter revealed that the polar conditions weren’t going to prevent the deal going through because it was only a mile from the training ground (at least that’s where I assume he will have had his medical).

However by the time I went to leave for work, the same reporter was stating that he’d had a text message saying that the Gunners didn’t have the dough to do the deal and the Ruski was on his way back to City Airport.

With all the airports closed, I actually envisaged Harry Redknapp hearing this news and scuttling down the A12 to City Airport to hijack the deal! I should know better by now than to get caught up in all this gossip bullsh*t after all these years, but then even I, a staunch Wenger-holic couldn’t believe Le Prof was going to let this transfer window pass him by, without putting his hand in the Club’s pocket

For all we know, perhaps Harry (or H as he’s known to his mates) did pop down, or send one of his East London envelope crew to scope the possibilities of purloining our highly-prized import from St. Petersburg.

Then again H “he’s got a twitch” Houdini was probably too busy buying back the third of three players Spurs have recently sold (Chimbonda, Defoe and Keane). What’s that all about, eh? If there isn’t a cotchel of oilslick, pinstriped agents paying for their Porsches from this round of parleying players back and forth, I’m Popovich from Petrograd!

Besides they’d have had absolutely no luck persuading our Soviet star down the wrong end of the Seven Sisters Road, because as we all saw when Andrey appeared outside THOF2, he revealed that he’s a “Guuinner” (I can’t begin to spell correctly the accent in which Arshavin described himself a Gooner, save to say that it was endearingly comical)

Meanwhile, when I spoke to my Spurs pal, he informed me this was merely an old Russian ploy to leverage a few more roubles out of the deal, but not wanting to end up with egg on my face, I thought it expedient to forward the Irish Examiner two versions of the following piece with a different last paragraph to cover either eventuality.

I assumed at the time that the rumours about the club only really wanting to look like they were in for a big signing, but never having any real intention (or ability even!) to stump up the readies, were true and that poor old Andrey was going to end up heading back to Zenik, after being snowed in for a couple of days, looking like a proper Charlie (he’d have probably have accepted an offer from Metalurg Donetsk at that stage, rather than trudging home with his tail between his legs!). However if interview outside THOF with one of the agents involved in the deal was to be believed, it sounded as if they’d rescued Andrey (with a “Y” according to Sky Sports News!) from behind the Iron Curtain, before his commie captors chained him to a (broken) radiator in the run up to deadline day. ☺

If I’m honest, I don’t really recall seeing enough of Arshavin to really pass judgement on him as a player. I’ve a vague recollection of him playing for Russia against England, where I believe he played in the Rebrov role (as in when the Rebrov/Schevchenko partnership were ripping it up for Kiev). Maybe it was a ridiculously inflated price that put any opposition clubs off, but the one thing which did concern me a little was that it didn’t exactly appear as if we were having to beat the opposition off with a broom, to prevent being outbid for the diminutive Cossack?

We can but hope that Andrey is a much bigger personality on the pitch than the meek….I was going to say “lad” but let’s face it, he’s no spring chicken, who came out to proclaim himself one of us.

Our new no. 23’s problem is that there’s going to be such a weight of expectation on his shoulders to be the instant panacea for all the Arsenal’s problems, that I can’t begin to imagine him being able to fulfill a fraction of our hopes, even if he played like Kaka, Ronaldihno and Eto’o all rolled into one (which he won’t!). It’s hard to imagine his fellow, fickle Guinners being patient enough to allow him a couple of games to get to know his team mates, let alone the six weeks it might take for him to become match fit (with the Russian having ended in November).

If there’s any truth to it, I love the fact that the guy really seems to have had his heart set on playing for the Arsenal. But being the cynic I am, I can’t help but wonder if this was more a case of him being desperate to do a runner from Russia, before Europe’s economy collapses completely (and before his star began to slide in inverse proportion to his age) and no matter how many wheelbarrows it would take to carry his transfer fee, it still wouldn’t paper half of his penthouse flat.

In the aftermath of this less than smooth transaction (bearing in mind, we only caught the last few tense hours of it, I can only imagine the weeks of agonizing dentistry involved in tearing this particular midfield molar from its Motherland gum), you got the impression that the Gunners had accepted the fact that they had no choice but to get their man and you can bet your sweet bippy that the selling party were certain to have done their utmost to leverage every last kopek out of the transaction.

However if it wasn’t for the fact that Wenger appeared so utterly focused on adding this one solitary piece to his Arsenal jigsaw (much as he appeared to be with Reyes), I would’ve much preferred if he’d done a couple more deals before the deadline, if only to ensure that we don’t end up in scenario where he’s forced to send an unfit Arshavin on for the last 20 minutes because we’re 0-1 down (hopefully not on Sunday) and he pulls a hamstring. It would seem like the end of our season, whereas at least if we had a couple more new faces, it would feel as if we had something, or someone else to pin all our hopes on.

Personally I don’t really see where another pretty passer of the ball checks the boxes of our highest priorities at present. Especially in a fully fit squad, where I can’t envisage Andrey fitting the bill as a partner for Fabregas in the middle of the park, nor as a partner for Van Persie up front. Still I continue to have faith that Arsène knows, even if I’d preferred to see us sign a big ugly bruiser, with a personality to match who could lend a bit of substance to such to the positively lightweight first XI of the past few weeks.

In my piece below, I’ve moaned about Denilson and Diaby both sitting deep, when West Ham showed so little ambition that they could’ve both been given license to rampage forward. However during the game the WHU supporting nephew of my boss, the master carpenter at the ballet, had the insight that we’d be best inviting the Irons on to us, in order to allow us the space to get in behind them and perhaps this was Le Prof’s intention by having his central midfield sitting just in front of the defence, only the buggers didn’t take the bait and though it was as dull as dishwater, you have to give Zola’s team credit for a commendably disciplined defensive performance.

On my way around to the ground I was struggling with the dilemma of whether I could take any money off the lad for his ticket. His uncle is so kind to me in looking out for work which is least likely to damage my increasingly decrepit joints that I wouldn’t have dreamed of taking money from him, if he could’ve escaped looking after the kids last Saturday, but I wasn’t certain if it was proper etiquette to express my gratitude to his kin.

I am sure if West Ham had won, I wouldn’t have hesitated in making the lad cough up a few quid for the privilege of seeing me suffer. However in the end, I wished I’d taxed him before KO, as when I walked back with him to the Arsenal tube after, I honestly didn’t have the heart to take any money off him for freezing his cods off to endure 90 minutes of such an uneventful match.

The tubes were so banjaxed that it took him over an hour and a half just to get to the Arsenal from Canning Town and in truth I was just relieved that he was able to hook up with one of his Hammers mates who just happened to live around the corner and who had a seat for him a warm motor. As I said to him, the fact that he would be warm and toasty with his feet up in front of the fire, instead of still shivering in the queue at the Arsenal, was probably the best result of the day!

I was about to sign off, so that I could get this sent out, rather than have it sit as yet another unfinished opus, with all the other opii (just wanted to get than in to show I know the plural – Stephen Fry, who he?) that have been made obsolete by the euphoria, or the hysteria of a subsequent outing. But I really couldn’t sign off without saying a word about Sunday’s derby.

In my humble opinion, you can judge the credentials of a genuine Gooner by how much the North London derby means to them. Never mind all those who might have you believe that Arsenal v Chelsea is far more significant, especially in a season where both North London sides might have little more to crow about than their conquest of this corner of the capital. Mind you, the still have a Mickey Mouse Wembley outing ahead of them and could even have a relegation battle on their hands, to keep their choler up. And I’d be a liar if I didn’t say that I still harbour totally unrealistic hopes of us upsetting the odds in the Champions League (now there’s a stage which might suit our Andrey?)

Matches v the likes of Man Utd, Chelsea et al pale into insignificance for those of us who inhabit the North London environs and who are confronted on a daily basis by the enemy. I’m already bricking myself about how I’m going to manage a glass half-full show of stiff upper lip optimism to my Spurs pals if the worst came to the worst this weekend.

In fact, considering how much I hate the snow (aside from having sadistic fun throwing snowballs for Treacle to catch, I’m a complete coward when it comes to negotiating snow on anything but a pair of skiis – to the extent that even I sent the missus out in the motor on a mercy mission on Monday night, rather than get behind the wheel myself), it says something that actually think there would be a part of me that would be quite relieved if six inch blanket of the stuff caused a postponement on Sunday.

I happened to pass by to solve a Spurs’ mate’s computer woes on my way home from my Ma’s tonight and he told me that I was the second person today, to enquire if White Hart Lane had undersoil heating. I think he was quite put out at my suggestion that they were so backward at the Lane, compared to the plush facilities at the better end of the Seven Sisters Road (didn’t stop them calling off the Cardiff game somewhat presumptuously on Monday!).

These extreme weather conditions already have me fretting about how I’m going to manage the practicalities of a lunchtime raid in and out of enemy territory. Even I am not barmy enough to brave the motorbike, which was bought specifically because of the advantages it would lend to this sort of outing. And I seriously begrudge paying more to park the car at Spurs than some folks pay for their football ticket at many grounds.

If I get up early enough, I might head in the opposite direction to White Hart Lane, to cadge a lift in my Spurs pals motor. It will be worth the barrage of banter because they’ve got a great parking pitch and it would save me having to brave the elements on a long hike. However it would mean obtaining an assurance that they weren’t going to leave before the final whistle and even then, I’m not sure I could guarantee them not reneging on any arrangement, as if they were 0-2 down, at least leaving me stranded outside Spurs might offer them a little consolation.

I’m not a big Facebook aficionado, in fact I got so fed up with the number of emails that it generates, that I ended up setting up a filter, which mean that I only rarely remember to look in on the odd occasion I click on the Facebook folder. However the subject did cross up this evening when my mate’s missus enquired how come I had “so and so” listed as a friend. Apparently it’s a kid who goes to school with their son and for a worrying minute, I thought I was being accused of “grooming”. I imagine it’s just a Gooner connection but nevertheless when I checked my email when I arrived home, it occurred to me to check the Facebook folder and I found the latest message was from my first ever girlfriend from primary school. “How sweet” I thought that she’d looked me up until I opened the message to see “Come on you Spurs”

With the enmity Harry has engendered amongst the Hammers by his positively treasonable act (as the Hammers fans teased “We hate Spurs more than you”), I had a fanciful notion that last weekend’s encounter with West Ham might inspire a unified chorus of “He’s got a twitch, he’s got a twitch, Harry Redknapp, he’s got a twitch”.

Yet as I walked home with the Hammers unanswered (and sung with more than a little irony) “we are unbeatable” chants ringing in my ears, if I was most disappointed about one aspect to last weekend’s encounter with West Ham, it’s that amidst such bitter conditions and with evidence of so many empty seats dotted around the ground (which are always so much more prominent in Club Level), it dawned on me that our new temple to Premiership football might look like a marvelous stage for the best the beautiful game has to offer, but sadly it seems to lack the necessary soul to inspire the sort of fervour that was once capable of warming the most icy Saturday afternoon at our old home.

I know Bennett provided us with the obligatory half dozen bookings, but the absolute lack of any real venom, or extreme emotion of any kind left me coming away wondering whether I’d really just watched an Arsenal v West Ham game.

Both teams’ current predicament means that we won’t be wanting for any passions between the two sets of fans on Sunday to keep the cold out, but it will be interesting to see if this transmits itself to the pitch

All I know is that if we should lose, you can expect me to go into hibernation for the duration

Come on you Reds
Bernard

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After exhausting, successive away trips to games against Hull, Cardiff and Everton, about the best thing that can be said about yet another uninspiring Arsenal performance is that at least I only had to walk around the corner, in the bitter cold on Saturday.

In the recent past our displays on the road have tended to be more entertaining, because we’ve been able to exploit the space that’s afforded to us, by the fact that the home team is forced to show a little more ambition than would customarily be seen at our place. Thus it was disappointing to make the eight hour round trip drive to Goodison in midweek, for a 1-1 stalemate where Cahill’s 62nd minute header and Van Persie’s stunning 90th minute volley were just about the only efforts on target.

We joked sarcastically in the car on the way back that the point Robin rescued at the death might ultimately prove important in our challenge for UEFA Cup qualification, Yet it’s a sad reality that the current Arsenal first XI is a long way from the enthralling side that was capable of keeping an opposition goalie’s gloves warm the entire 90, with an relentless stream of goal scoring opportunities. And it was even more galling at the final whistle last Wednesday that our Dutch striker was the only one of our players to walk over and acknowledge the support of the travelling Gooners, while the rest of his team mates walked straight off, without showing the slightest appreciation that they’d be tucked up in their beds after a brief flight back to London, while we’d still be wending our way back down the motorway in the wee hours.

Despite getting home at nearly 3am, I sat down to watch a recording of the midweek Match of the Day, where highlights of West Ham v Hull showed the Hammers passing their way around and peppering the Tigers goal to such an extent, that Zola’s Irons looked far more like the Arsenal, than our current lacklustre lot. As a result I was looking forward to what I hoped might be an open and entertaining derby game against West Ham and seeing in person some of their impressive youngsters, like Collison, or perhaps finding out what £9million buys nowadays, by way of Savio.

In truth you’d think there’d never be a better time to take the Arsenal on, but I guess that psychologically, the Gunners remain a relatively big scalp and with West Ham’s unbeaten run keeping them well clear of the relegation mire, instead of playing to our strengths, they came to our place intent on merely shutting us out.

It certainly didn’t make for the sort of spectacle I was hoping for, but I can’t argue that the Hammer’s tactics proved effective. If Zola’s influence was evident in their game against Hull, according to my Hammer’s pal, it was Steve Clarke’s nous, which was responsible for the stalwart way in which the Irons set their defensive stall out on Saturday.

Writing his programme notes from back home in Spain, Fabregas states that he hopes to return from his knee ligament injury sooner than expected. I certainly hope this will prove to be the case, as the stats of our ten game unbeaten Premiership run hardly reveal quite how frustrating our form has been in Cesc’s absence. We weren't exactly on fire before Fab was crocked but the more we see of the current line-up, the more obvious it has become that Van Persie is the only genuine class act amongst them.

We’ve seen occasional glimpses of quality from Samir Nasri, like his goals against Man Utd and as with the majority of our players, I’ve no doubt Nasri would look great in a Gunners side that was on song. But with Van Persie left on the bench on Saturday (until the last 20), despite dominating possession, the team that Arsène put out once again lacked the dynamism and the inspiration to seriously threaten Robert Green's goal.

If resting the in-form Robin was baffling, it was also hard to understand why our two central midfielders, Diaby & Denilson sat so deep, as if both had been tasked with a holding role. West Ham’s limited ambitions meant that both of them could’ve been given license to bomb forward to support our strikers. Instead of which, we were forced to endure another impotent attacking display. In fact with a surprising number of empty seats in the stands (despite the laughable 60,109 attendance figures) both on the terraces and on the pitch this game rarely sparked into the sort of fervent affair that we’ve come to expect from this London derby. It almost made one nostalgic for the sort of entertainment provided by Vieira gobbing on Razor Ruddock!

Both Arsenal fans and squad alike appear desperate for the moral boost of some fresh blood and some increased competition for places. We can but hope that Arshavin's arrival will have the necessary positive impact. Allegedly the hiccup on deadline day was merely an old Ruski trick to leverage an additional few quid. Yet in truth we couldn't afford NOT to buy him, because if Andrey's contribution does anything to help us qualify for the Champions League, any additional sums we've been forced to pay will seem like relative peanuts compared to the cost of failing to finish in the top four and the sort of premiums we'd be forced to pay to attract players to a club that couldn’t offer the opportunity to play on the big Euro stage.

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Harry Redknapp, He's Got A Twitch

Hi folks,

One of the best things about awaydays such as Sunday's outing is that they occasionally tend to be the proving ground for new chants. So for all those who weren't present at Ninian Park, the latest addition to the Gooner repertoire might not be particularly original (tunewise), but it made me smile. To the same tune of "We're on our way" it goes something like:-

"He's got a twitch, he's got a twitch. Harry Redknapp, he's got a twitch. Where'd he get it, I don't know. How'd he get it, I don't care, all I know is Harry's got a twitch"

In truth, a draw was probably a fair result on Sunday, considering Enckelman wasn't exactly overworked in the Cardiff goal. The fact that we managed to create so few genuine goal scoring opportunities, despite our second half dominance and as Cardiff dropped ever deeper as the clock ticked down, would lend credence to those who argue that we could benefit from the arrival of Arshavin.

In all honesty, I can't recall seeing enough of the player to pass judgement. Yet while I'm certain he's blessed with the sort of guile and craft that befits his inflated price tag, it would be extremely surprising if he was capable of slotting straight into the team and as a result, for us to suddenly start producing the sort of incisive football which has been sorely lacking up until now. In truth, it might take the Ruski until April to adapt to the frantic pace of Premiership footie and to fully come to terms with the players around him (timing of their runs, where best to play them in etc). Thus it would be a bit unrealistic to expect him to be an instant stand-in for our injured Spanish maestro and it will indeed be interesting to see how Arsène intends to play the two of them in the same side.

Nevertheless, while virtually all the teams around us in the Premiership have their moral boosted by the arrival of new signings, giving their challenge some renewed impetus as a result of the influx of some fresh blood and increased competition for places in their dressing rooms, I think it's almost imperative that Arsène makes some sort of significant move during the transfer window, even if it does go against his customary reticence to be pressurised into getting involved in the January madness, not just for positive boost it might give to the moral of our squad and our fans but because of the negative pyschological impact, if we end up as one of the only teams not to strengthen our squad.

From past experience of holding my breath to the point of suffocation during the January transfer window, to avoid any disappointment, I've been saying all along that we shouldn't be surprised if Wenger chooses not to get his cheque book out. However the recent flurry of business conducted elsewhere leaves me feeling fairly certain that Arsène must recognise the fact that he has to be seen to be making some moves to compete with everyone else and for our team to push on and make some sort of challenge for silverware, lest he wants his team to be perceived as merely treading water.

The most optimistic aspect to Sunday's performance was the confident display of Kieran Gibbs. Yet in the light of how impotent the Arsenal appear in the absence of the influential likes of Fabregas, the dynamism of Walcott and hopefully the goal scoring contribution of Eduardo (to name but three), surely even our emu of a manager must appreciate that for him to trot out his traditional line about "having every faith in his squad's ability to challenge for honours" just won't wash this time around.

And unlike the bonkers bandwagon of Wenger knockers, I don't say that with any criticism intended, as it's Le Prof's pertinacious qualities which have been largely responsible for providing us with footballing pleasures beyond my wildest dreams, back when we were paying to watch the likes of McGoldrick, Carter, Kiwomya, Helder et al not so long ago.

Nuff Respek
Bernard
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Almost four and a half thousand Gooners trekked to Cardiff on Sunday morning, all eager to time travel, a couple of decades, from the sanitised, extortionately priced Premiership product, back to the days of old-school football.

Our modern new stadia might stand as imposing architectural landmarks across this island’s landscape, bringing live football to a wider, largely more affluent “audience”, but Sunday’s outing served as a timely reminder that all that’s been lost in the migration from the tight-confines of the ramshackle terracing of yesteryear, will never be recaptured in the antiseptic environs of these family-friendly, all-seater temples to the gods of Mammon.

In fact I couldn’t escape the symbolism as we approached Ninian Park, confronted by the old and the new, on either side of the road. In their delightful, lilting Welsh accent, the locals were rightly proud of the brand spanking, blue and white edifice, which appears to have risen from the car park opposite their dilapidated old ground, providing the Bluebirds with a home that fulfils all the stringent health & safety criteria, to ensure that their club is equipped should they ever manage to achieve promotion to the promised land of the Premiership.

Yet it was ironic to think that the vast majority of travelling Gooners had been attracted by the prospect of an increasingly rare opportunity (and the last at the old Ninian Park) to savour an old-fashioned football awayday. I wasn’t even aware that I could’ve paid an additional four quid for a ticket in the small seated area in our stand behind the goal. In fact, it’s bizarre to think that there were probably plenty amongst us who’d have been prepared to pay a premium on our reasonably priced £22 tickets, to be reminded how much more fun there was to be had from supporting the Gunners from a standing terrace.

Such a rare privilege (and doubtless the Cardiff fans unruly rep) seemed to have attracted all the old faces out of the woodwork. We travelled West in my pal’s people-mover, with the WAGlette daughter of one of our number accompanied by a South London lad who’s living the Gooner dream as a first-year scholar in the Arsenal Academy, having been part of the youth team set-up since he was in short pants, when a school trip to THOF aged 9 resulted in him signing schoolboy forms.

I could’ve spent the entire 3-hour journey pestering the poor lad with questions but I didn’t want to drive him potty. Instead I sat back to savour a reminder of how far away our current squad is from filling the boots of their more illustrious forbears, watching The Untouchables DVD (review of 2003/04). Although it’s great that a youth team member should make the effort to travel to watch the first XI, in truth I’m not sure whether he was more interested in the footy, or the totty!

With Reading having been relegated and no Premiership sides West of the capital, the drive along the M4 motorway has inevitable cup connotations, considering how many times we’ve made our way along it, to the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff. There’s also always seemed a certain symbolism to the fact that the French company operating the Severn Bridge toll, charge a seriously inflated £5.60 to cross the bridge into Wales, but that it is free to enter England in the opposite direction.

Having been complicit in the events that pushed Leeds to the brink of bankruptcy, perhaps Peter Ridsdale has learned to be more economically astute as Cardiff chairman. I could’ve probably purchased an entire row of seats at the 1927 Cup Final, for the four quid I was fleeced by his club for a mere matchday programme!

Meanwhile the Toyota Previa felt more like the Tardis, as I stood watching a scene straight out of the 1980s, as the Gooner hordes were frogmarched towards the ground, segregated from the locals by a line of yellow-jacketed riot police on either side, backed up by a clutch of meat-wagons with flashing blue lights and a few ferocious looking, barking Alsatians. Both the old bill and our fans displayed the sort of testosterone (and alcohol!) fuelled body language which made them all look like refugees from the cast of the movie “Scum”.

I don’t know how bad the local bad boys are, but to my mind it was all a little “de trop” and only served to ramp up the sort of tension which probably wouldn’t have existed without such an overbearing police presence. There’s something distinctly invasive about the way in which the police point their video cameras and their telephoto lenses at football crowds. I often feel that it’s an open invitation for certain idiots to act up.

Mercifully there was no sign of any aggro and we all crammed together on to the terracing behind the goal to holler our heads off for 90 fervent minutes, in the sort of concerted fashion which just isn’t feasible in the less confined environment of all-seater stadia. I’d persuaded a Gooner pal from the US to make a tortuous trip up from Devon on a pilgrimage to his first ever away game, telling him that he’d probably never get a better chance to taste the atmosphere of old. Zach was duly blown away by the experience. He couldn’t believe how many of the fans in our corner of the ground spent the entire game almost exclusively focused on baiting one another, rather than watching events on the pitch.

Although they really didn’t miss much. After the home side failed to capitalise on their flurry of opportunities in the first 20 minutes, the Gunners began to take control, but for all our domination of possession and despite plenty of endeavour, sadly the match petered out into a bit of a stalemate.

My “septic” pal joked at the break about the extreme differences between a sporting event in the States and I must admit it was a rare pleasure to be able to openly suck on a cigarette, without having to skulk in the karseys, or to have to surreptitiously hide the fag smoke up my coat sleeve, for fear of being thrown out. Judging by the exotic odours in the air, nicotine wasn’t the only pleasure being taken. In my most humble opinion, the Welsh police might consider making marijuana smoking not merely legal, but obligatory, so that Cardiff’s more troublesome larrikins might enjoy an all together more chilled out atmosphere.

Perhaps young Aaron was trying just a little too hard to make a big impression, on his return to Ninian Park, as the lad couldn’t seem to put a foot right. It was eventually a relief to see Ramsey replaced by Diaby on the hour, as Abou’s presence in the middle of the park enabled us to put Cardiff under the cosh. Yet for all our toil, the Arsenal patently lacked the sort of inventive spark necessary to unpick the home side’s lock and so long as Enckelman stood tall in his goalmouth, it was going to take a genuine moment of wizadry to decide this match.

Especially when the home side’s ambition waned towards the end of the game. I assume the replay will earn the Cardiff players a bonus, as I can’t recall the last time I saw the home team taking the ball to the corner flag, at 0-0, with 5 minutes left on the clock, much to their fans chagrin. But then I guess we will both have to take comfort from the fact that our sides remained in the hat for an advantageous home draw in the 5th round.

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